All That Glitters
by books tea and too much telly
Summary: When an art theft is impossible to solve, Louise must partner with her childhood nemesis to catch the thief. (Adult Louigan) On hiatus while we prepare for and welcome our first child! Apologies, but I do have a plan and intend to come back ASAP.
1. Chapter 01: The Encounter

Louise was ecstatic. An art thief on the loose!

She looked at her Kuchi Kopi phone case, expectantly. With Lobsterfeast approaching next week, she knew Bosco would reluctantly phone his best consulting detective. The idea for which she thieved, but she didn't think ol' Doyle would mind. Aside from being dead longer than she'd been alive, she felt that she exceeded Holmes in solving mysterious cases by solving real cases and Doyle ought to appreciate that.

The screen lit up, "Bosco, buddy, hello. What do you need?"

Bosco grumbled about not requiring the help of a psychopath, before sighing and suggesting maybe it would be helpful if she came down to the station.

Grabbing her favourite hoody off the hanger, Louise all but skipped out the door. Few things in life compared to the thrill of chasing a smart criminal. (Sorry, Mickey!) The stakes were at their highest between crime scenes when the town was silently waiting for the next strike. While others cowered, Louise felt alive. And today, the hunt has begun anew.

Bosco was fighting with someone as Louise strolled into the station. She took in the smell of burnt coffee as she marched up to Bosco.

"I'm here." She announced, stepping into the heated conversation. Bosco stared at her incredulously, veining pulsing in his reddened face. He seemed to be frozen, so Louise turned to excuse his combatant from the conversation, "I trust you can pick up this fight…Holy. Shit."

"Yeap," the man replied with a grimace. His sea-coloured eyes were stormy with annoyance as Louise stared at him hardly fathoming the sight before her. His sandy hair swept away from his eyes and gelled into place, his face was smooth, and he smelled faintly of sandalwood. She took in his navy, well-fitted suit, his polished shoes, and gaped a bit longer.

"Hello, Louise," Logan said, neutrally, as if he weren't surprised that his nemesis throughout high school had interrupted his argument with the police captain. As if he expected her to step into any conversation, unwelcomed, at any time in his life.

"What are you doing here?" she asked incredulously.

"I am doing well. Thank you. And, you? Is that family of yours still flipping the best burgers in town?" Logan smiled at the shock on her face before continuing, "Well, I really must be going. Bosco, please do let me know when you have put an end to this nonsense."

As he walked off, Bosco blew out a weary gust of air and muttered, "This day is unbelievable."

Shaking herself off from the surprise, Louise followed Bosco into a conference room. The old, stained wooden table which usually occupied the majority of the room was shoved against the near wall, leaving room for a series of standing whiteboards covered in notes, images, and documentation.

"I've got it from here," Louise said, dismissing Bosco before he could say anything. He shook his head and left the room, closing the door behind him. The evidence, files, and scene sang to her in a way that Bosco never understood. He would insist on running down the details of the case for her, but he always missed the most significant bits and focused too much on arbitrary distractions. She found it easiest to excuse him early and focus on the problem alone.

 _Our little mouse is good_ , Louise thought as she chewed her pen.

A Cranwinkle original had been stolen from the local artist display of the Warf Arts Centre. While the reproduction was perfect in every way, the thief had replaced Edith's signature with a question mark. The curator had noticed this morning but feared the painting may have been stolen any time during her recent holiday. The cost of a Cranwinkle had soared since Edith passed a few years ago, but they were not in the area of a white-collar thief. Which suggested the motive was to prove that the criminal could dupe the police more than cashing in on the stolen goods. Images of the scene only showed a clean museum with little evidence.

 _Oh, she is really good._

Louise laid back imagining the thief working on the replica, mimicking the strokes of the original. As she pictured the attention to detail required to copy a painting with such precision. It must have taken weeks to produce, the long, boring trips to the museum to memorise and verify each microscopic detail of Edith's best work.

"Oh! That's brilliant!" Louise jumped up and ran out of the station.

* * *

Logan walked away from the station annoyed and bemused. Annoyed the police department did not seem to understand the importance of catching a criminal. He felt the police of all people in this little town would agree with him and let him help fund their investigation. He had no intention of having his private collection violated by this fraudster. Unlike the small art centre Fischoeder built to draw in the older crowd, Logan's collection housed priceless originals that he spent his life acquiring. If the thief were to turn his expertise toward Logan's own collection, his career could be ruined.

Yet, Logan was amused at the absurdity of running into Louise after all these years. Little Four Ears was a far cry from the lanky middle schooler he recalled from his senior year. The woman he'd just seen had a tangle of black hair held back by a pink ribbon, glowering amber eyes, and stood just under his chin. Her well-worn hoodie hinted at a figure beneath that he wondered at for an instant before shaking away the odd exchange for what it was, a strange moment in this strange little town with that once strange little girl.


	2. Chapter 02: Something Fischy

Logan lazily swirled the glass of scotch in his hand, while he assessed the eclectic art collection before him. Fantastical portraits of exotic animals, bright with cyan and magenta, demanded his gaze, while disturbing but brightly-coloured surrealist paintings left him pondering the depths of the Fischoeder psyche. A glance into someone's art collection revealed more about them than decades of friendship. Fischoeder enjoyed a touch of macabre in his whimsy.

Logan took a burning sip of the amber liquid. The smoky taste of malt eased his nerves as he turned to speak with Fisch – no, Calvin.

Calvin Fischoeder, Logan's childhood villain, turned business associate, leaned heavily on his ivory-handled cane. He still sported his signature all-white suit and matching eye-patch, which made it even more difficult for Logan to separate his childhood characterisation from the client before him. However, Logan was no longer a directionless teenage rebel. If Calvin could forgive Logan for the dishonourable, attention-seeking habits of his youth, then Logan could certainly be professional in return.

"Well, you evidently have the most intriguing collection this side of Ocean Avenue," Logan said to break the enduring silence. Where most clients wished to discuss every piece in their collection, Calvin silently supervised Logan's observations of his home gallery. "I have a few artists that I will put you in touch with, their work with be the..."

"Oh, no, no, no," Calvin interrupted, "I expect you to acquire new works as you see fit. I cannot be bothered to interact with people at my age. No, you will buy works for me. If I don't like them, you will know."

"Uh, typically..." Logan began.

"I am not sure what you see that is typical, here. Mr, uh, Bush – is it?" Calvin paused for confirmation. Logan nodded, aware that Calvin knew exactly what his last name was, and Calvin continued, "but you will do this for me. Felix will not be able to spend my money if it is hanging in my gallery."

Logan nodded, speechlessly. What did he expect? Nothing about Calvin was conventional, why was expecting this to be a simple, new client?

"Of course," he managed, after a quick swig of the whiskey.

"Great!" Calvin said shortly as if the conversation were over.

"How many new pieces are you thinking?" Logan asked, typically he would inquire more about the wants of his client. What are they trying to say with their artwork? What message would they like to see when they walked into their dining room or where ever the piece would live? These purchases were meant to sneak into an existing collection without the expectation of the consumer enjoying them.

"Oh, I don't know. Here," Calvin shoved stacks of bills into his hands, "Spend all this, and if I want more, I will give you more." With that, Calvin turned to walk away.

Logan looked up from the several stacks of hundred-dollar bills cradled in his hands to watch Calvin's exit. A dark, steampunk painting of a faceless humanoid figure in a tall top hat hung to the right of the door by which Calvin left. Something bugged him about it now, and he recalled a nagging feeling when he first saw it but had blamed it on his nerves. This time, he walked closer to it, awkwardly as he tried to position the bill stacks without dropping them.

This time he saw it. In place of the signature, an elaborate and curly question mark was painted in a rustic red, barely noticeable on the rusty, metal pallet of the painting.

"Erm, Calvin!?" Logan called. There was no response, so he called again.

Calvin stormed in, cane forgotten. "What is it? I thought you left?"

"Where did you get this? When?" Logan demanded, nodding his head toward the painting.

"Oh, I don't know. Decades ago? The artist was a tenant of mine on Ocean Avenue. He skipped rent for several months in a row. When I threatened to evict him, he gave me that...that oddity. Naturally, he was given a week to find a new location."

"And, did he sign it this way?" Logan said, excited. He may have caught the thief! His collection would be safe, Bosco would owe him a favour, and he, most importantly, Logan Berry Bush would have discovered an art thief. Everyone would want him to curate their collections after this news got out.

"Now that I am looking at it, no. I remember the signature being white. There was a date, too. I used that date to enforce my week deadline." Calvin leaned back from the painting and shouted, "FELIX! FELIX! COME IN HERE; I KNOW YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH THIS!"

"Calvin, I don't think Felix has anything to do with this. I think it is the art thief." Logan stated calmly, hoping to diffuse the conversation before it spiralled out of control. He dropped the cash and pulled out his cell phone to call Bosco, while Calvin muttered about the likelihood that Felix _still_ had something to do with this silliness.

* * *

Louise walked into Fischoeder's mansion with a smile on her face. The more paintings uncovered, the more likely a pattern would surface (or even a mistake that would unravel the case). After painstakingly studying every detail of the previous forgery, she was ready for something fresh to talk to about the case. Maybe this one would speak back more than the copy of Edith's art. Certainly, it would not say less. A high-quality reproduction of low-quality artwork was still low quality. The artist captured the hidden rage which accompanied each stroke of Edith's brush flawlessly. However, that did not distract from the fact the painting was a still life of a fruit bowl with little depth or texture or complexity of any sort. The painting was uninspiring, and it began haunting her dreams with its mundanity. How did the thief perfectly create such dull work? It was not even Edith's best work, in Louise's very educated opinion. Yes, a new painting would do wonders.

From the entry, Louise could see that Bosco's boys had taped off the room and trampled over the scene with their usual attention to detail before she arrived at the scene. She scowled in annoyance, as she walked into the room. The clash of bright colours and disturbing scenes caught her attention as she scanned for entry and exit points, a few uniformed officers stood around doing...something, she was sure, Fischoeder stood answering questions with Bosco and, Louise frowned deeper, Logan Berry Bush. This guy. This fucking guy, again?

She turned abruptly away from the group with a huff of annoyance and turned toward the painting in question. Or, she intended to, but the wall, denoted by the overuse of obnoxious yellow crime scene tape, was quite blank. Annoyance turned to anger as she grabbed an officer by the collar of his shirt and started yelling at him.

"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU? DON'T MOVE ANYTHING, AT ALL, NOTHING, NOT ONE LITTLE TINY SCRAP OF TRASH FROM ANY CRIME SCENE BEFORE I ARRIVE! I HAVE BEEN VERY, VERY CLEAR ABOUT THIS. YOU ARE TO CALL ME BEFORE YOU EVEN ENTRE THE SCENE, BUT IF YOU MUST CALL ME AFTER, IT SHOULD NOT BE DISTURBED IN ANY WAY. GOT IT?!"

Bosco ran over and pulled her off before she could relay the consequences of disobeying her to the officer. She turned her anger to him, "What happened here, Bosco? You and I agreed that I would be on scenes before forensics. I don't contaminate crime scenes, so you let me see them fresh. What the Hell?"

"I don't have to explain anything to a civilian. But, the painting was removed from the scene before anyone arrived. Mr Bush felt that would protect the 'integrity of the painting' - whatever that means. It was too late for us to stop him, but we've explained to him the idiocy of his dumb decision."

Anger does not always dissipate easily; sometimes it builds up quickly with so much heat that it cannot simply be absorbed. Rather, it demands to be released typically loudly and, in a way, that Louise tended to regret afterwards. Right now, the anger was winning as she realised she was right to be angry. The scene was a mess, and there was no reason for this lack of professionalism. As she gazed over the room, her eyes settled on Logan. Suddenly, her rage had a single, definitive victim on whom to focus. She stomped toward him, dictating a spectacular dressing down in her mind.

"How dare you interfere…" she began, clearly and carefully, as if lecturing a particularly stubborn child.

"I am sorry," Logan said defeated. "I wanted to look at it under better lighting to see if anything stuck out to me. I know a lot of local artists and hoped, well, I don't know what I hoped, but I thought I'd be able to help."

Louise was shocked into a moment of quiet. She was ready for a fight; she had her canons in place and ready to fire. But the look of genuine sadness in his eyes caught deflated her anger instantly. She had the smallest urge to reassure him; it wasn't so bad. The scene was already ruined by the high number of officers that answer a Fischoeder police call. The artwork would not have been ruined, even if any fingerprints had been rubbed off. He hadn't done much of anything to hinder her process. She sighed, loudly.

"Alright, Logan. Don't do this dumb shit again?" she admonished. After a sullen nod from Logan, she felt she'd reached a compromise with her annoyance. "Show me where this damn canvas is."


	3. Chapter 03: An Unwelcome Guest

Logan stared at the very ordinary door in front of him. He tried to convince himself that it was perfectly normal to be nervous when standing outside the door of an old friend. Friend may not be the right term for their oddly complicated childhood relationship. After over a decade, what would you even call them? Strangers? Old nemesis? Nemesis wasn't the label he would have used, but as remembered the flash of anger in her big brown eyes when they bumped into each other at the station once the initial shock faded. Maybe, she'd call it enemies. His stomach tumbled; he'd rather they had drifted into strangers. Instead, he was certain that he was standing in front of the door of a girl who hated him. What could he do to change that?

With a sigh, he shifted his weight to his other foot, balanced the two large coffee cups in his left hand, and hesitated.

"Oh, screw it," Logan blew out a heavy sigh and knocked.

In a moment which took forever to pass, Logan could feel his heart pounding. After an eternity, during which he seriously considered leaving several times, the door ripped open.

"Tina, I told you I am… oh? What are you doing here?" Louise glared like no other human could. She glared as if she could turn blood into ice in your veins and kill you with a simple look. She perfected that look over the years, Logan felt chilled.

Logan flashed a smile and held up the coffee cups in front of Louise's eyes with no additional explanation. For a moment, Louise merely stood in her doorway grasping for words. Logan let out a hearty laugh for the second time this week, he'd made the Louise Belcher grasping for acidic words with which to destroy him.

"Oh, Bunny Ears. You've gotten dull without our continued sparring."

Louise growled, "Why the fuck are you here with coffee?"

"To help you on the case, of course," Logan responded simply.

Anger burned bright red behind her eyes. "I work alone and don't need any help with my case. Especially from the likes of you…why are you smiling?!"

"Well, it is not so much your case as it is Bosco's. And, Bosco brought me on his team as a civilian consultant, similar - you'll find - to your own official capacity. As the leader of this little team, Bosco has ordered that we work together because it is 'too much trouble to keep track of two civilians who cannot keep their noses out of police work.'" Logan finished his spot-on Bosco impression and looked back at the angry woman in the doorway. Her choppy hair fell into her face, messy from sleep. Her eyes were dark with circles, evidence that she wasn't rested despite the hair. Logan felt an odd urge to sweep the hair out of her face, but thankfully the coffees prevented him from acting on the impulse.

"Bosco ordered you to show up on my doorstep with coffee to help me on my case?"

"He said you'd do all your work at this address," he held up a scrap of yellow paper with her address scrawled in Bosco's illegible hand. "I don't function without coffee and thought you'd want some too."

It was not strictly true. Logan occasionally sipped coffee after a particularly difficult meeting as a sort of refocusing ritual before he continued with his day. He made his best coffee before leaving his house because he'd notice she always carried some coffee. She had a coffee thermos on her person like other women had bags, unconsciously a part of her presence. But, he thought it was better not to mention that observation to her at this point.

"FINE!" Louise spat out, exasperated. Snatching the coffee from his hand, she turned into her loft, leaving him standing after her.

"Well, that went well," Logan murmured before crossing the threshold after her.


End file.
